


Threnody

by singing_to_shipwreck (shocked_into_shame)



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24768580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/singing_to_shipwreck
Summary: Nandor has considered what it will be like to turn Guillermo into a vampire. It will be nice. It will be intimate. It will be quiet. It will be refined.
Relationships: Guillermo/Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows TV)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 88





	Threnody

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags.

Nandor has considered what it will be like to turn Guillermo into a vampire. It will be nice. It will be intimate. It will be quiet. It will be refined. 

There will be an excited glimmer in Guillermo's eyes as he gazes up at him, eager for his transformation. Guillermo's tiny, fragile human hands will curl up in his shirts, holding onto him as he bites into the supple, warm skin at his neck. Nandor will hold onto him in return while Guillermo drinks in kind. 

They will exchange parts of themselves. They will face eternity together.

Nandor isn't ready yet. But he will be. And when he is, it will be quiet and nice and intimate and refined. 

  
  
Now, Guillermo's eyes do not contain any excited glimmers. They are dull. His hands do not clutch at Nandor's shirts. They lie limply at his sides, covered in mud. A fly lands on one of his little fingers, buzzing and rattling in Nandor's ears. There is nothing nice about that. 

There is nothing intimate in the way Nandor is pressing at Guillermo's soft stomach in a frenzy, his large hands working to try to hold everything there _ ,  _ to try to keep the warm, fleshy things that sustain Guillermo contained long enough for Nandor to render them useless. 

There is nothing  _ refined _ about the way Nadja is screeching behind him, her words unrecognizable. She might have been speaking any language; he can't understand a word. 

He isn't ready, he thinks, as the puddle of blood and guts at Guillermo's waist becomes an ocean. His fingers have gone numb from pressing at the wound, bearing down so hard that he's mangled the flesh there, Guillermo's abdomen concaving in a way that makes him want to turn his head in revulsion. 

He isn't ready to say goodbye to all the warm, fleshy things that make Guillermo human. He isn't ready to say goodbye to the fluttering of Guillermo's heartbeat ever-roaring under the surface or the pink flush of his cheeks or the heat of his hand. 

He isn't ready, but he  _ will _ say goodbye to all of those things, because to say goodbye to all of those things is to keep Guillermo here with him. And even if it's a different Guillermo who takes his place, a sturdier, colder version, who may not have a thrumming heartbeat or rushing blood but will still be his Guillermo - that's alright.

He isn't ready, but once he feels he is strong enough to bite and drink without draining, he leans down and fixes his mouth at Guillermo's neck. 

His skin is clammy and cold. He clamps down, sucking in the liquid and trying to ignore the way his stomach coils as the acrid, rotten twang of Guillermo's blood as it pools in his mouth. He is disgusted. That isn't  _ right _ . 

He pulls away, swallowing down hard. The blood threatens to crawl back up and out of his mouth. 

He lifts one of his palms and winces as it comes up covered in blood. He deftly slits his fang across his palm, hissing as his own blood rises to the surface, and he shoves it at Guillermo's mouth. His lips are blue, but it's  _ okay _ . It isn't what he planned, but it's  _ okay _ .

"Drink, Guillermo," he murmurs, and his voice is choked. Hoarse. It hurts to speak. He distantly wonders why. Guillermo isn't drinking. Guillermo isn't clutching to his shirts. "Drink and join me in eternal life," he repeats, his tone rising in urgency. 

"It's too late, Nandor," Colin explains, and he's being dragged away from Guillermo. Nandor watches, his head spinning, as Guillermo's body slumps to the ground, hitting the earth with a thud. "We're too late." 

"No," he breathes, trying to crawl his way back to Guillermo. Laszlo holds him by the arms. 

Guilermo is slumped on the ground, and Nandor doesn't understand. It isn't what he planned.

It isn't intimate or quiet or nice or refined. 

Someone is sobbing like an animal. He doesn't have the cognizance to realize it's him. 

  
  
Nandor has never considered a version of the future where Guillermo is not by his side. He hasn't allowed himself to picture that. 

And now he doesn't need to picture it. He doesn't need to imagine the clawing, aching feeling that would emerge in his dead heart if something were to happen to Guillermo. He doesn't have to imagine what it would be like to shuffle around his life aimlessly, knowing that Guillermo would never return. That he could never return. 

He doesn't have to picture it, because it's his reality. It has been some time, perhaps weeks or months. It feels like far longer. Eternity has never loomed so darkly above him. Aeons have never stretched so far ahead. 

His hands tremble as he flips open the tome, his mouth moving to create shapes of words he doesn't understand. He's bathed in blue light and he looks up. 

This is intimate. 

This is quiet and refined and  _ almost _ nice. 

His hands are still shaking as he stares ahead at the shadow. 

This isn't what he planned, but it might be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> ... sorry
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
